But Not Goodbye
by Laurel West
Summary: Captain James Nicholls must say goodbye to the nurse who saved his life, but he can only bring himself to say, "Goodbye for now." (Drabble)


_A drabble about the beautiful Captain James Nicholls. Takes place after the events depicted in War Horse (whose story and characters I do not own), excepting that Nicholls survives. Not promising any historical accuracy here, but still, please enjoy!_

The scratching of pencil on paper was the loudest sound, though muted footsteps and hushed voices could be heard all around. He adjusted his shoulder and a twinge of pain shot down his arm, chest, and back. The pain did little to distract him as he continued shading.

He was working from memory and was sure it was not doing her justice. He paused, pencil tip still touching the paper, as he closed his eyes and recalled her face once again.

The angel face that was the first thing he saw when he awoke after three long days; the face constantly written with worry, over him and how he was healing. The face that he thought couldn't be any more exquisite – until he saw her smile.

One set of footsteps grew more distinct, snapping him from his reverie, and he opened his eyes. He quickly moved to stash his sketching, but his movement was too sudden and the paper flew from his fingers. He attempted to grasp for it as it floated to the ground, but the resultant stabbing pain in his shoulder halted him.

The very face he had been trying to recreate then appeared in the doorway, her brows furrowing in worry when she saw him clutching his arm.

"What happened? Does it hurt?" She asked, her voice full of concern.

"I moved too quickly," He exhaled, "It's nothing."

Still, she hastened to his side – but paused when a pencil snapped beneath her foot.

"Oh," She gasped, looking down, "I'm sorry, I didn't see . . ."

He grimaced slightly; he knew she had seen the drawing. She bent slightly to pick up the broken pencil and the sheet of paper. Her bright eyes narrowed slightly as she appraised the drawing.

"Did you draw this?" She asked softly, after a moment. He didn't reply, only appeared sheepish; she didn't see his face as she continued to study the paper.

"Do you like it?" He asked when she didn't say anything more. She didn't respond immediately, but she lifted her gaze to meet his.

"It's wonderful," She finally breathed. "It looks just like me."

"It's a fair representation," He granted. "But it pales in comparison to the original."

She sat then, taking the seat she'd rarely left since he'd been brought in – unconscious, bleeding, and barely alive. She seemed to hesitate, before quietly asking, "May I keep it?"

Her pale green eyes were penetrating. They held the same fear and worry they always did, but also something that could only be described as sadness.

"Of course," He answered. "I meant for you to have it in the end. It's not quite done, though. I could finish it for you, if you like," He smiled kindly, hoping to elicit a smile from her. She did smile, but it was small and didn't touch her eyes.

"I would like that," She replied, handing the drawing back to him. Then her smile quickly faded, and his followed suit.

"Is something wrong, Ellie?"

With that simple question, her eyes began to glisten.

"I've been reassigned," She nearly whispered, and he felt a vice tighten around his heart. "I leave on a train tonight."

"I don't understand," He whispered back.

"There's a shortage of nurses in Paris," She explained in a rush, not looking at him. "They've called for everyone that can be spared. A few of the nurses are staying here to see to the patients we have left, but you and the other men are nearly ready for discharge. Nurse Higgins feels you no longer need personal care. I tried to tell her that I can't . . . She doesn't understand how . . ." She trailed off, but he knew what she was trying to say.

"I don't want to leave, James," She told him, looking him in the eyes.

"I don't want you to leave," was his reply.

"But you don't need me," She whispered again, her eyes falling.

At that, he slowly leaned as far forward as his shoulder allowed, and reached to take one of the hands that rested in her lap. She kept her gaze down, examining his slender fingers as they grasped hers.

"Do you know why I drew that picture for you?" He asked her quietly, gently. She shook her head slightly. "Because your face has been my whole world since I woke up." She lifted her eyes at that, and he continued, "Your face was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. I thought you were an angel; I thought I'd died –"

"It was the fever –" She interjected, but he went on as if she hadn't spoken.

" – and your face has been with me every day since, worrying over me, caring for me. It's been the one constant, the bright sun in the morning and the gentle moon at night. If it weren't for that face of yours, watching over me, I don't think I would have had the will to recover. So yes, Ellie, I need you."

A single tear rolled down her cheek, and a look of confusion crossed her features. "You need my face?" She asked, uncomprehending.

He half-smiled, "And everything that comes with it." He let go of her hand then, raising his to her face, and with a caress of his thumb he wiped the solitary tear from her flushed cheek.

"But there's nothing I can do. I have to go," She nearly whimpered, cupping his hand to her face with her own.

"I know," He said, the corner of his mouth falling as his lips returned to a frown.

"What if I never see you again?" She asked, pleading in her voice. His voice was heavy when he spoke again.

"I'll find you," He assured her, then smiled slightly again. "I'm a captain, remember. I'm not without some influence."

"You promise?" She almost smiled, though more tears were welling in her eyes.

Without hesitation, he replied, "I promise," and he pulled her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers gently. Then, after a moment's consideration, he pulled her by the hand to sit on the edge of his bed and leaned in to place his forehead on hers. "I promise," He said again, breathily, "That I will do everything in my power to find you. Just as you did everything in your power to see that I survived –"

Again, she interrupted. "You don't owe me anything, James," She said softly. James shook his head slightly, his brow not leaving hers.

"I owe you _everything,_ but that's not why I'm making you this promise. I _want_ to find you, Eleanor."

They then both noticed another set of footsteps drawing closer, and they both knew to whom they belonged. It was time to say goodbye.

He could tell she was swallowing a sob, and so with abandon he leaned forward the last inch to press his lips to hers, sealing his promise with a tender kiss.

"Goodbye for now," He thought, as he tasted the salt of her tears on trembling lips, "But not goodbye."


End file.
